William Weber - Surviving America's Collapse

Outside, not long after, Al tapped John on the shoulder and offered him a Budweiser.

John took it and twisted off the cap. “I think we should begin setting up some sort of committee.”

“What for?”

“Might not be long before we need to start making decisions collectively. It’s always best not to wait for a crisis to know who’s in charge.”

Al nodded. “I suppose it can’t hurt to start spreading the word. I think Dan Foster used to work in the mayor’s office before he started his own law practice. I could have a chat with him.”

John took a bite of a hot dog and set it down on a paper plate. “Hmm, hold off on talking to Dan just yet.”

“Oh, did you hear what happened on Silversted?” Al asked.

“No, I didn’t.”

Al ran a wrinkled hand through what was left of his graying hair. “The street runs parallel to the interstate and apparently yesterday a few dozen folks came knocking on doors, asking for a place to stay for the night.”

“You mean the ones who were stranded on the highway?”

“Looks that way. I believe they were all taken in, fed and given a place to sleep.”

John took another swig of his beer, touched although worried at the same time.

“After the power went out, a bunch of them continued on to work while the rest turned around and headed home. It was the ones who got all the way into town and found their offices closed who got stuck when darkness fell. In a situation like this, that’s all most folks want anyway, right? To find a way home.”

“What about the police?” John asked. “Any word on whether they’ve been out at all?”

“Sally Wright from Maple Lane was saying she saw a number of them in groups of five or six. On some sort of patrol. Says she asked, but they didn’t know what had happened to cause this.”

“Didn’t know or wouldn’t say?”

“Hmm, not sure.”

“How were the cops getting around?” John asked.

“Bikes.”

“That makes sense. I wonder how they get anyone to the station though.”

Al laughed. “I wondered that myself. I guess the bad guys ride on the handlebars or something. But Sally also said she went to over to the Publix this morning to get a few things and found the shelves had been stripped bare.”

“That so?” John said, not the least bit surprised. Maybe now the seriousness of the situation would begin to sink in.

Over by a group of kids playing horseshoes on a neighbor’s lawn, John spotted Emma. She was with Brandon and the two of them were sitting on folding chairs, giggling.

Al followed John’s glance. “It’s a fact of life, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“Falling in love. Happens to us all. The lucky ones at least.”

“I know, Al. Emma’s a good kid. I trust her implicitly. It’s this boy I’m not sure about.”

“Well, they’re out in the open when they could be hiding out of sight. That oughta count for something.” Al looked down at the empty beer in his hand. “Want another one?”

John shook his head and Al sauntered off to the cooler.

He wasn’t alone for more than a few seconds before he heard a voice behind him.

“They’re quite fond of each other, aren’t they?”

He turned and found Tim Appleby, Brandon’s father.

John nodded. “They seem to be. Although it can’t hurt to keep an eye on them. Kids do have a habit of doing silly things.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Tim said, smiling. “We were young too once.”

John didn’t know much about Tim, other than that he worked as a musician, playing piano in hotel bars downtown.

Tim rubbed his hands together, twiddling his fingers as though he was prepping for a recital. “I’ve been hearing from some of the neighbors that you think this is gonna last more than a few days.”

“I know it will, Tim, but no one is really willing to accept that yet.”

“Can you blame them? I spent a stint living up in Montreal back in the late Nineties. In ’98 we were hit with one of the worst ice storms in history. Two million people without power for a full week. And let me tell you something. I never had so much fun in my life.”

John shook his head. “Yeah, I heard about that. Were there cops on the streets?”

“All over,” Tim said. “I’ve never seen so many cop cars. A few incidents of firewood and generator thefts, but overall people muscled through it. If they can last a week, then so can we.”

“Maybe, Tim, but this isn’t going to last a week. Won’t even last a month. I know it’s hard to believe, but there’s a very good chance it could be months, maybe even a year before things start returning to normal. Until then we’re getting a crash course in what it was like to live in the 1800s.”

The color faded from Tim’s face.

“I know the party mode is still in full swing,” John went on. “And hey, everyone handles things in their own way, but sometime in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, we’re gonna need to have a meeting for the residents of Sequoyah Hills to sort out issues of food and security. Tactically speaking, we’ve got the river at our backs. It wouldn’t be terribly difficult to create a series of checkpoints so we can be sure who’s coming into our neighborhood.” John suddenly remembered something. “You own an old Mustang, don’t you?”

“Yeah, a 1973. Just finished detailing her.”

“Have you tried running her since yesterday?”

“No, I just assumed she wouldn’t work.”

“I suspect she’ll run just fine. In fact, if push comes to shove she may come in handy. I’ve got a ’78 Blazer myself which still runs just fine. At the meeting, we’ll need to see who else has an older car that we could use.”

“That makes sense. Let me talk to some people and see what I can get going.”

“All right. Thanks, Tim.”

“Don’t mention it.” Tim paused. “There was another reason I came to speak with you.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I just wanted to let you know that Brandon is a good kid.”

“I’m sure he is.”

Tim smiled and walked away. Diane came up to John a few minutes later and wrapped her arms around him.

“You finding the same thing I am?” she asked.

“Denial, you mean?”

She let out a worried laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s not all bad. I’ve been spreading the word that we need to have a meeting for all residents of Sequoyah Hills.”

“And people seem receptive?”

“So far. Al was telling me the Publix was completely cleaned out. It’s only a question of time before the hunger sets in.”

He saw the concern growing on her face.

“We’re still in a good spot, honey,” he told her. “No need to worry. We’ve got plenty of food, a safe place to sleep and a house that’s nicely fortified. Compared to the rest of these free-spirited partygoers, we’re well ahead of the curve. Besides, if the crap really does hit the fan, we’ve always got plan B.”

Diane hugged John tighter.

“I spoke with Brandon’s father just now,” he said.

She looked up at him. “And?”

“Seemed nice enough. Told me about a disaster he lived through up in Montreal years ago and what a great time he had.”

She laughed. “Oh, boy.”

“He has a ’73 Mustang that might still work.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I sense a but in there somewhere.”

John’s wife knew him too well. “Tim’s a musician.”

“So?”

“Before yesterday it wouldn’t have mattered. But as things progress, anyone without a useful skillset will be in real danger.”

The next morning, John unsealed the hatch and emerged from the pod to a loud booming noise. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs. He climbed back down the ladder into the pod and got his S&W, checking to make sure the magazine was full.